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Land

Benjamin D. Herson

    Mason gazed across his field with a countenance hard and wary. His features suggested a much older man, maybe fifty, thanks to seven years of Dorado farming, which really came out to eleven point something years. Jakton, down the road, could tell him the conversion factor, could calculate how long Mason had spent here, his real age including relative time passed in transit, but Mason didn’'t feel like walking all that way to kill a curiosity. It would die on its own, given time. Everything did. The harvest began tomorrow morning, so tonight Mason would celebrate and prepare the only way he knew how.
    He stepped cautiously to the first carrot, pulled, put his back into it, pushing aside the useless wish for the new harvesting equipment. Without production in place here, nothing could be done but wait on Earth’'s response. The opposite end of the carrot reached far enough down to poke into the aquifer. Strange how the topsoil could remain so scorched with the water table high. With a sucking sound, the carrot began to rise from the mud. Once he’'d gotten the first half foot out, Mason’'s body fell back as the rest sprung from the hole. The breeze cut across him where he lay for a moment—'the carrot held at his chest like a rifle, but heavier—'and Mason felt the chill in it.
    This damned little rock had a funny tilt to it, and turned slower than the manual rotisserie operated by that sluggard at the market, but it did turn. Had already turned so that the white star blazed low on the western sky, but the atmosphere took a week to radiate its heat away and catch up. When the almanac said harvest time had arrived, they meant it. The long winter would be here. Mason gritted his teeth as the back of his eyes began to burn. No, he wouldn’'t break like the others, the ones who cried and cried for home and then couldn’'t work the land any longer. The winters were bearable in the moment; the anticipation was what got to the neo-frontiersmen. These fading summer days.
    A whirring sound startled him to his feet. Mason hefted the carrot up over his shoulder and headed toward his house. Jakton had sped by, wasting the oil to hover-speed here, which meant it had to be important. “'Help,”' he said. Jakton grew blueberries bigger than fists. He only had to pick the things. (Mason would probably rotate to strawberries himself next year—'no one did two consecutive vegetable seasons.) When Mason responded with only an eyebrow raise, Jakton explained, “'My son’'s ill, and my wife’'s afraid it’'s...I think she just needs to stay with him. I’'m solo for harvesting.”'
    Mason knew only too well that this planet had not been good to children. Sally had actually smiled when she’'d been diagnosed with cancer; she never fought it. Mason glared back at Jakton, who awkwardly took the explanation back a step. “'They timed it wrong. The cold’'s gonna fall on us early. We work together—'salvage both crops. I’'ll help you pull...”'
    “'That’'s still two men pulling two fields. Won’'t help either of us. Who says cold’'s falling early?”' The memory of the breeze that had just arrived tingled on his skin—'just how cold had it been?
    “'I say. And my berries get ruined by a day in that cold. Your carrots...”'
    “'Get entombed.”'
    “'But they’'re survivable. Help me get the berries up, and I’'ll be here to dig them out with you, hard as it’'ll be.”' After a heavy pause, he added, “'We’'re in this together!”'
    Mason shook his head. Only he seemed to understand just how alone they were. Their first crops still hadn’'t reached home, wouldn’'t for another couple years yet.
    “'Please, Mason. Please.”'
    Mason set his dinner carrot down in a show of disgust. “'Don’'t get all womany on me, Jak. Something awful’'s liable to happen if I mistake you for one.”' Of course no women who weren’'t family had come along. A man’'s job here, this hard farming. Would still have been even if the crops hadn’'t grown so large as to make their harvesting equipment inadequate. Between the fancy gene-play the scientists had done and the long summers in the rich soil hidden under the layer of angry hardness, the food had become gargantuan, monstrous—'the short definition of Earth’'s necessity. But Earth felt too far now. They were alone here. Jakton liked to see the collective of neo-frontiersmen and their families as all being alone together, and that could be poetic, sometimes even feeling true. As the younger man waited expectantly for his answer, Mason cycled back to the same thought, the trick he’'d played on himself. The idea had been to come here to make a better life for the family he’'d begun. Yes, with the money he’'d begin making, his son and daughter would never suffer hunger like he’'d known. How had he fallen for this? Why hadn’'t he quit already? He almost had to laugh.
    “'Jakton,”' Mason said, his voice almost threatening, “'this planet doesn’'t spin fast enough to keep children’'s souls interested in staying aboard. You remember those spinning things at parks back home.”'
    “'Dorado is my home,”' Jakton insisted.
    “'Not if you want my help. I’'m going to go inside and change into something dark for the blue-splatter, and I’'m going to find a good pair of gloves. In exchange for my help, this is your last season here. Cede me your land and get your family on board the very same shuttle that’'ll take your produce home. By the time you get there, the food you’'ll have sold from four seasons here will have made you wealthy enough.”'
    “'My deal was for a five-year stay.”'
    “'You say that like it matters, Jakton. Or—'how ‘'bout this. I only promised three, so in trade for your land, I’'ll give my fifth year’'s harvest. It’'ll look like I took a holiday year while you did double-duty in year two.”'
    “'No one does—'either.”'
    “'Jak, you’'ve got to get home.”' Mason didn’'t want to say anything condescending to Jakton about not making Mason’'s mistake, so he shifted gears. “'I’'m going inside. You have till I come out to make up your mind.”' Mason dragged his dinner into the house with him.
    The carrots would be a bitch, but Jakton would have his blueberries and then help Mason yank, even if it took an hour per carrot...weeks for the field, bringing them well into winter’'s opening darkness. He hoped the kid had miscalculated, but the shutters shook in another cold wind. Mason took the extra time to walk through his house closing windows. Time to make it a winter hideaway already, a humble heat-trap. He stepped back outside.
    Jakton had left, seeking another neighbor for help, refusing Mason’'s offer. If they’'d been friends, Mason would have just lost his last friendship. This place hated youth, killed young bodies and young hearts. Mason huffed out a breath of frustration, mad at himself for the wasted effort. Already in work gloves, with the chill coming early, Mason stepped up to his second carrot, leaned over, and pulled hard enough to make the land release it.



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